


Black Cats and Good Omens

by FallenGabriella



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Also No one Ever Really Dies in Comics, Because Logic and Plot Armor, Don't worry, F/M, I feel like Damian could write a book on that, Jealousy, Occupational Hazards of Being an Al Ghul, Parent/Child Incest, Ra's Revives All the Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: A series of long snippets detailing the strange relationship between Ra's al Ghul and the woman known as Selina Kyle, A.K.A Catwoman.Jealousy is such an ugly sin, crawling from every corner, and often the place you least expect...





	1. Green

Lazarus was unnatural in its application, in what it did to the living, so it stood to reason that the stain they had left upon his irises should be just as unnatural as their waters. Hers, on the other hand… He was not sure which shade to attribute them to. His brow furrowed, watching her leap gracefully from the edge of one rooftop, to land nimbly upon the curved back of a hunched gargoyle. It was an impressive feat to be sure.

His lips quirked with amusement, with a sort of strange fondness he had not felt in decades. He rubbed the edges of his knuckles together, steepled fingers tightening till his nails dug into the backs of his hands. The momentary, sharp pain made him focus on the task at hand.

She had stolen from him. Again.

Three times in the last month, the thieving feline woman had made her way past his Shadows, and straight to the very hearts of each separate domain. And to think, his initial impression of her was a regard he spared only to petty criminals, scum that should be wiped off the face of the earth. If nothing more than for the fact that they annoyed him, that their presence was so unsavory, so useless that they might as well stop taking what little breathable oxygen they were so that it could be given to someone with at last half a functioning brain. But now…

They were too light for emerald. Not sparkling, for that would imply that their brightness flickered like the stars in the vast nothingness of the nightly veil. No, her irises burned with the same strange iridescence his did, but it was their color – their color! – that escaped him. They were not bitter enough for lime, nor blue enough for seafoam.

Ra’s leaned back in his chair, watching the rain glide off her sleek form as she twisted effortlessly to land upon the tips of her toes. His brow furrowed, chin tilting back as he observed the graceful swerve of her limber legs and arms, the way her body curved just so as she somersaulted just for the sake of it.

He settled on chartreuse and retired to his chambers.


	2. Dance

_Her body is made for it_. Ra’s had thought nothing else since the evening he had reviewed the security footage. It was a pity then, that she clung to the outskirts of the hall, slipping between the lights and ballgowns with all the flitting fancy of a woman used to better things.

Her gaze still glowed, in that eerie way that mirrored his own, but was weightless and natural. Her dress was dark and long, rippling with waves of nigh unseen azure, and flecks of diamonds abounded the sash around her waist. Jagged and almost unkempt, her locks were as wild as the cut of her lips, always crooked with the slightest hint of mischief. Ra’s found his own mouth responding, molding to mirror her own. Sadly, the Detective was absent…

 _Pity_ , Ra’s lamented, _I would have liked to see her perform_. Then again…

If she was surprised, she did not let it show. One hand easily fitted into the graceful arch of her back, the other rising in a smooth motion to take her palm in his. She wore gloves, a silk that caught upon the pen and sword callouses inside his knuckles. Her eyes narrowed, though the pout of her lips remained upturned.

“Fancy seeing you here, Demon’s Head.” Her aloofness with his title was hardly the greatest insult he’d ever sustained. He hoped it would not be the last, for her voice was just as lovely and promising as her body. And yet, despite her initial words, composed and calm with just the slightest hint of sarcasm…

She pressed herself into him. Indecent while ravishing, her breasts yielded to his chest, and her thighs rubbed upwards against his own. One of them rose further, scraping across his suit, hooking for the barest moment against his hip. Like a cat rubbing itself against a stranger’s leg, bartering a few strokes in return for scraps. Not that he believed she’d settle for leavings.

“I could say the same of you, Lady Kyle.” Ra’s returned, with the same ease and boredom she had seen fit to give him. He inhaled, taking in the scent of rain and a flower whose name escaped him, though he knew it was white and as soft as her skin appeared to be.

Yes, he could see it now, her form slinking into an unfamiliar home as if she were its queen. She’d have her fill of tuna and chicken and whatever would please her, then disappear beneath a flickering streetlamp, never to be seen again.

“’Lady’ Kyle?” Her tone had changed, coming now from her throat, and curved from the edge of her tongue. He could see it peeking from behind her fangs, tracing the same lilting syllables his own had. “Careful, you’ll give me a complex.”

“One you are worthy of, I assure you.”


	3. Deal

Bargain? Arrangement? There were so many terms for the unnamable truce he had struck with Lady Kyle. No doubt all of which the Detective would never approve of. It was delightfully refreshing that she didn’t care. Talia could learn a thing or two from such brazenness, a trait he weeded out whenever possible, and yet… It fit her perfectly.

She offered no apologies for her nature, expected nothing of no one, and in return she responded with the unexpected. Never the easy route, except when it suited her, never the high road, except when it got her what she wanted. She was a marvel to behold, an unforeseen piece that he… He had not expected. She was ravishing and reckless, calculating and resourceful, brave and without forgiveness.

Something bloomed within his chest. It took many moons, not some poison that lingered, or a sickness that festered. No, it was like the lilies of the mountains, taking root within the blackened, broken faces of the snow-covered rocks. They burst forth on curled vines, their faces as blinding and ivory as the world that surrounded them. From the edges of their petals, they slowly turned pink, and then a rouge so deep, you would think some fey god had descended from the heavens to gift each face with a single drop of her blood.

He was certain Lady Kyle was such a goddess…

For this thing twisted within his lungs as the lily’s roots did the rocks, constricting his heart, stealing his breath and a few precious beats from his stalwart chambers. She wouldn’t have needed to, of course. He would have given them to her, freely, and all others that came after, but this was her will… And he would deny her nothing. She was not some pawn, not a piece to be moved about at his whim. Vicious and daring, all reason had escaped him and left only this…

A queen, cloaked in a pelt as black as night, draped amongst the stars, and with all the promise of a death well met on the tip of her tongue, between the tender skin of her thighs. She needed no army, no castle, no elite sentinels to do her bidding. She did what she pleased, when she pleased, for all else would have held her back.

This accord he had struck with her, this thing that would have been taboo if anyone else had known of it, was a wicked thing. For his word was a hard-won prize, his respect even more so.

Ra’s licked his lips, brow furrowing as he watched her lazily glide through a simple, Parisian shop. She could have worn any strip of cloth inside, their worth raised only because she wore them. Why was the Detective not with her? Why did he not buy her whatever she chose, why did he not stand beside her?

Men complained about such outings. Fools. He would sit all day, silent outside of the dressing room to but glimpse her glory, no matter if the cloth were tacky, or beneath her. No, he would take her somewhere finer, a place where the dresses were tailored, and the silk and satin was made to accommodate every curve. Ra’s found himself rising before he could stop himself. The mere image of him reclined upon a plush sofa, watching her twirl in a gown made of sheer emerald or turquoise, better yet one of ivory down that would put a swan to shame –

This was not part of their terms. He did not care.


	4. Art

Love and War are the same. Neither is fair, and both are an art. There is no book truly written for the former, for unlike War, it must be experienced. They are close friends of his, though he would be the first to admit that it is the latter he has called upon most, but it is the secrets of the first he holds closest. He has known them at their most merciless, has been prey to the tenderest of their vices, but never has he been so blinded. Except once, and after, he swore never again.

Never is an accomplice to both, and he hates her with a vengeance most men reserve for Karma.

The sword smashed into the wall, the blade becoming brittle, cracking under the force. He had not seen, had not known. His heart thundered in his ears. The heat of battle, of desire, though for blood or flesh he could not name. The tips of his fingers itched, to claw into the supple flesh pressed against his own, to tear it, to know it. His tongue and teeth wanted to feast, to tear and devour till nothing was left.

Selina stared up at him, her green eyes wide. Agony, familiar and unwelcome, lanced his spine. He choked on the pain, rasping between his fangs. Ra’s bowed his head, seeking solace in the scent of leather and rain, the faintest hint of some flower he could not remember. He found them all, there, nestled in her pulse. He shuddered, one hand releasing the hilt, and the other curled against the stone next to her. His palms throbbed, echoing the one he could taste on his lips, had dreamed of knowing…


	5. Moonlight

“ _Lazarus fever_ …” Bruce had warned her once. Selina swore that the next time she saw him, she was going to belt him in the mouth. Ra’s had risen from the pool, body glinting with an eerie green that some twisted horror movie fan would call ‘unholy’. It didn’t look like it was of this world, and neither did his eyes. They had burned with the water, swirling around him as he’d lurched towards the shore. She should have turned tail and run –

 _Lazarus madness_. That’s what she would have called it, because it sounded better, and it was a better description.

“Easy there, Ra’s…” She’d purred, trying to soothe the rage that carved itself into every line of him. Selina raised her hands, stepping back just as his hand curled around the hilt of a sabre. “Now come on, that’s no way to thank a Lady for saving you.” He was fast. So damn fast that she’d nearly turned into paste on the jagged rocks of the cavern more than four times. He put her through her paces without even trying, his body winding and sliding through one attack and then the next. And damnit if he wasn’t a sight to behold.

He was all sinew and muscle, the waters of the pit and the sweat he built up adding an edge to them that made concentrating harder than it should have been. The lighting didn’t help, the weird coiling green of the pool and torches aside, it was the silvery moon that betrayed the grace and smoothness of him. She expected his movements to be jerky, stilted by his fresh revival, but it was entirely the opposite.

One false misstep, one heart pounding moment later and she –

Ra’s was staring down at her, the luminescence of his orbs scorching right through her. Selina gasped, attempting to arch, to twist from beneath him. But he was hard and unrelenting, watching her with wide, hooded eyes. The sword slammed down next to her head, a gasp ripped from her lips. She flinched underneath him, her gaze flickering between him and the sword. But then…

Then his lids started to lower, slow and heavy, his hands falling as his head bowed. His hair scrapped against her jaw and cheek, bringing the scent of cinnamon and sand, heat and something sulfuric. It was the same scent that had greeted her at the mouth of the cave, had only grown stronger as they neared the waters, and now it clung to him and her. Selina’s brow furrowed, a shudder rocking her shoulders as his lips stroked tenderly against her neck, the same as the moonlight through the silver at his temples.

He rasped, breath hot and desperate upon her collar, stirring the fire from the coals resting in her stomach: “ _Selina_.”


	6. Betrayal

Ra’s body shook beneath her own. Her lips, swollen as much as his, throbbing with the taste of her heart and him, curled just as her hips did. His chest heaved beneath her palms, greedy for her touch and breath. Selina released a soft moan, raising up till he was only half inside her, and still he chased her, still his mouth formed a plea that his mind could not find a word for. She returned to him, purring to ease the grip his hands had suddenly taken upon her hips.

There would be bruises tomorrow. Purple and blue marks of honor, in the shapes of his fingers, that she would wear with a smile.

Her own tangled in the hair on his chest, thumbs stroking the rises of his pectorals as they lurched upwards. Course and yet smooth, her nails teased against his muscles till she heard him groan. Then she pulled them down, so slowly they became a torture, ripping her name from his teeth and tongue. Who knew ‘Pit Madness’ left a man so deliciously sensitive? So half out of his mind that he could barely tell up from down?

Ra’s choked on a sound both desperate and deep, swallowing it in with a gasp as she dragged herself up again, making sure to clench her muscles as she did so. He stared up at her with shaking pupils, with his mouth open, the sulfuric waters, the salt of his sweat, and the sweetness of his saliva trailing into his goatee. She’d tasted them all and relished them as she did the way his muscles seized and writhed beneath her tongue and teeth and hands.

“Easy, Ra’s… Shhh…” Selina cooed, tangling her fingers into his dark hair, making sure to trace the silver at his temples with her thumbs. The Demon’s Head gasped through his nose, body straining upwards to meet her. Another thing she enjoyed – Ra’s liked being kissed. She could tell by how hungrily his lips pressed to hers, how quick his tongue was to join the fray, how eager he was to let her take her share just as much as he did. He possessed a finesse the Pit couldn’t rob him of, for it seemed to her that he wanted to please her more than he did himself.

And she’d be a liar if she said it wasn’t working. Selina gasped and pushed harder, hips rutting against his even as she drowned against his mouth. He stole her breath, her will, it felt as if he were drinking her very soul from her. She didn’t care, her nails tore into his hair, scratching at his scalp and down his nape. Her claws sunk into his shoulders, his body falling back to find that angle, the one that would make her blind, the one that would –

Selina screamed. Ra’s bucked once, twice, thrice. His hips rolled in accordance, one hand anchoring her by her waist, and the other firm on her ribs. He was squeezing the life out of her, pushing her towards the abyss. She hissed and yowled, slicing into his newly healed abdomen. It rose to meet her abuse as he arched, panting and groaning beneath her, thighs straining.

 _So full_ , _so full_ … How long had it been? It seemed so pointless to remember Bruce, especially when Ra’s was right here and so good. Not quite as thick, but longer, reaching where the Bat never could. Selina’s calves shook, toes curling as she tossed her head back. Her cries echoed, she could hear them in the distance, matching the drum of her heart in her ears.

She couldn’t see Ra’s watching her, the way his Lazarus eyes took in every curve of her, glassy and with a desperation he would never voice. She couldn’t feel the same pair of eyes, filled with malice and jealousy, or the bright blues she had once adored brimming with rage and agony.


	7. Bliss

_God_ … _I actually passed out_. Selina almost giggled, resting against the chest of the Demon’s Head. Her eyes felt heavy, her legs much the same, hell, all of her did. She sighed, a sound of contentment and warmth as she nuzzled the place over his heart. Her other hand idly rubbed the hairs on his chest, tracing an almost nonexistent scar, deviating to follow the outline of one of the scratches she’d inflicted on him. He was silent beneath her, though his hand held her shoulder, thumb gently rubbing circles along her bicep. His other hand held her hip, fingers notching into the smooth hollow, to soothe the bright azure and deep violet marks he had left behind.

Ra’s chest hitched with the subtlest beginnings of a sigh, melding into a deep exhale that ruffled her sweat laden bangs. As tired as she was, as much as every muscle sang with the quiet desperation for sleep, she felt her cheeks surrender to the lazy smile that curled them. Selina felt the hand on her waist move, fingertips never leaving her skin as they followed the waves of her ribs. She shivered, breath hitching against his chest as they stroked the curve of her breast, following the line up into her shoulder.

His hand was like Bruce’s in a lot of ways, rough and textured, like a man who worked through sweat and steel, and yet could don a three-piece suit and sign the day away at a desk. He idly traced along her arm, into the tender skin of her inner elbow, and then up to her wrist. Ra’s paused upon the veins, feeling her pulse, and she almost shied away from the strange intimacy. His fingers moved on, abandoning the tell-tale ache of her heart, and melded in with the smoothness of her own.

Selina closed her eyes, forcing her breath to remain steady, even as her lips trembled against his chest. Ra’s said nothing, and she couldn’t see his face. The hand that had been massaging her arm cupped her back, in much the same way as he had the gala. Tender and faint, the warmth of his palm following her spine to nestle against the base of it. Her muscles obeyed, tendrils of sweet, honey heat flowing through her as she felt his lips press to her messy locks.

As easy as comparisons came, this was nothing like she’d ever had… with anyone.


End file.
